


Trick of the Light

by treefrogie84



Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nurse Dean Winchester, finally getting their act together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 09:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14850399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Dean's too tired to protest Eliot making sure he gets upstairs to his apartment okay, but not so tired he won't invite the man over for pie and Netflix after they've both gotten some sleep.Eliot's hot and the only other guy his age in the entire building.





	Trick of the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was originally for something entirely different and the only remnants are Nurse!Dean and Eliot. Mostly, I just needed something else to look at for a few hours.
> 
> Unbeta’d, one shot, set in some alternate universe where Dean quit hunting and went to nursing school and the Leverage team still formed.

Coming off a twelve hour shift in the ER, Dean is exhaustedly staring at the elevator button, trying to muster up the energy to press the up button when Eliot from across the hall reaches around him. 

“Hey, man,” Dean manages, leaning against the wall. “How you been?”

Eliot doesn’t look much better than Dean feels-- a few days healed black eye, some scratches on his hands and arms-- but he shrugs, “Busy. Work’s been… something… the past couple of weeks. But I’ve finally got some time off.”

Dean grins, “I’ve got a pie in the freezer if you want to pick Brooklyn 99 back up.”

Eliot huffs, but nods. “After you’ve gotten some sleep. You think I don’t know what you look like when you’re coming off several twelves?” He pauses a moment before saying, “And I’m cooking dinner.”

“Technically, it was only two twelves,” Dean protests. Eliot doesn’t need to know about the shifts between and overtime he earned. But Sam’s wedding is in two months and driving from Boston to Cali and back is going to eat a week of vacation on top of the actual days he needs to be there.

Easier to earn that money and goodwill in advance.

Eliot pushes him into the elevator when the doors slide open, pressing their floor button with his free hand. “Yeah, two shifts out of five were _only_ twelve hours. You think I don’t know how you work by now?”

Dean would really like to protest more, but Eliot’s hand is warm on his back, leeching some of the persistent ache out. Suddenly, Dean’s thankful that he’s too tired to show much physical response. High grade crush or not, the last thing he needs is get a boner in front of the only guy his age in the entire building.

He must look as tired as he is, because Eliot stands at his shoulder while Dean fumbles his keys into the lock and then stumbles into the apartment. 

Snatching Dean’s phone from his pocket-- how?-- Eliot easily unlocks it and sets an alarm before handing Dean the phone. “Go to bed, Winchester. Alarm’s set for five-thirty.”

Dean lifts a hand in exhausted acknowledgement before face planting into his couch. He’s out before Eliot even closes the door.

He wakes only once, stumbling to the bathroom and to the kitchen to pull the last of his pre-made pies out of the freezer to thaw in the fridge for a few hours before stripping down and going to bed. The next time he wakes up is to the buzzing of his alarm on his headboard.

Coffee first, he decides. Then shower and pie and Eliot.

It should maybe bother him that Eliot is an entire item on his priority list, but not before coffee. Nothing before coffee.

Which is maybe why upon turning the corner into his kitchen, he stares blankly at well built shoulders straining a thin tank top while rummaging through his spice rack.

“Buh--”

Eliot spins around, hand closing around the handle of the knife he’s using. “Shit.”

“Hot.” Jesus fuck, he did _not_ just say that. Hopefully, his blush can be written off as barely awake. “You set my alarm,” Dean points out, pretending he doesn’t see Eliot drop the knife back on the cutting board. “Did you make coffee when you broke in?”

Eliot shakes his head, turns back to the stove. “When was the last time you replaced your spices? Your mustard is stale as hell.”

“I replace the ones I use.” Dean reaches for the coffee filters in the cabinet above Eliot’s shoulder. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve needed ground mustard for something.”

It’s a tight squeeze to fit them both in the kitchen, even if Dean is just standing to the side waiting for the coffee to brew. Pouring himself a cup, Dean watches Eliot whirl around, making… something. He really should ask what, but embarrassment keeps him silent and wrapped around his coffee mug. 

Draining his coffee, Dean pushes in next to Eliot so he rinse his mug and flip on the oven. Eliot’s arm slides around Dean’s waist as he shuffle steps to the side, turning and kissing Dean’s cheek.

They both freeze.

“Uh…” Eliot starts, abruptly dropping his arm. “I-- uh… forgot something.” He’s out the door before Dean has a chance to react. 

Dean blinks after him, mouth hanging open, before slowly moving back over to the stove. Flipping the burners off, he covers everything and sticks the pie in the oven. Then he goes and showers. It’s the only thing he can think to do.

Emerging from the shower, Dean has a plan. He pulls a pair of lounge pants-- a terrible plaid flannel worn thin in strategic places-- and a tshirt on before heading back out to the living room and kitchen.

He finishes dinner-- a chicken curry, or at least that’s what it becomes-- and plates it before marching across the hall and pounding on Eliot’s door.

“Dean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t--”

“Shut up,” Dean cuts him off, fisting Eliot’s shirt and kissing him firmly. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you moved in.”

Eliot blinks at him, speechless. The tinny sound of something makes Dean glance down to where Eliot’s phone is still in his hand.

“Shit, you’re on the phone, I…”

Eliot barks into the phone, “I’ll see you at Nate’s tomorrow,” before flipping it closed and tossing it over his shoulder. “They know,” he says, correctly interpreting Dean’s look. “We’re in each other’s pockets too much to not.”

Dean inhales and nods, relaxing a little bit. 

“Let’s do this again,” Eliot says. Slowly, he drags Dean in, one hand on his hip and the other cradling his jaw. Slower makes it better, sweet kisses shared between them before they grow deeper. 

Dinner is nearly silent, trading shy looks and gleeful kisses, almost like they’re back in high school. They don’t start actually talking until Dean deposits the pie on the table along with a can of whipped cream. 

“Are you sure you want this?” Eliot asks. “My work schedule is… erratic, and I want you safe, not risking anything.”

“You’re not the only one who’s work schedule is erratic. And who comes with baggage.” Dean snorts. “I don’t even know what you do.” He leans back in his chair, looking at the fading bruises Eliot’s trying to hide and the ones he’s not. “MMA fighter. Or equivalent.”

Eliot’s jaw drops, “That’s pretty close, actually.”

Dean shrugs, cutting off a bite of pie with his fork. “I didn’t always patch folks up, didn’t always live in Boston. Just got too hurt to do the other work.” Meeting Eliot’s eyes, he grins. “I don’t care if it’s illegal as long as it’s the right thing to do.”

“My team and I, well, we pick up where the law leaves off.” Eliot looks Dean over speculatively, “I figured you for ex-military.” 

Dean makes a so-so motion with his hand. “Something like that. Any other concerns or can we move this to the couch and make out like teenagers?”

Eliot leans over to steal another kiss. “Never thought you’d want to do something instead of pie.”

“I want to do you,” Dean smirks.


End file.
